


Well-Positioned; Filthy but Graceful

by SelvaOscura



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Femsub, Humiliation, Maledom/Femsub, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Frustration, Verbal Humiliation, fuck gina carano though, there was only one cockpit, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelvaOscura/pseuds/SelvaOscura
Summary: It's been three days on a long journey on the cramped Razor Crest. Former trooper Carasynthia Dune is bored, horny, tipsy, and intends on having her way with the Mandalorian.Din Djarin is not going to let that, exactly, happen. At least, not as Cara would imagine.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	Well-Positioned; Filthy but Graceful

**Author's Note:**

> PREFACE to this is that Gina Carano sucks shit and ass. In my version of this, Gina Carano is not playing Cara Dune. I like to think of this as "redemptive anti-Gina Carano fuckfic". 
> 
> If you are unfamiliar, Gina Carano is, in short: transphobic, anti-masker, believes that COVID is a hoax, has generally far right viewpoints, here is a decent enough writeup: https://www.insider.com/mandalorian-gina-carano-twitter-tweets-controversy-transphobic-2020-9 . I don't like her, in other words.
> 
> Writing this meant that I had to glorify her character, which I have mixed opinions on! But I do think she's kind of hot, and what else can I do but objectify my moral enemies, I guess.
> 
> WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY: Here is some cramped up warriors letting their frustrations out. Long hyperspace journey, two people... and there was only one cockpit!!
> 
> edit 2021/02/10: lol get fucked gina

_Tick, tick, tick._

The ship’s onboard odometer ticked quietly. It was a small sound, but it was something Din always noticed.

They’re almost imperceptible, the small noises that the Razor Crest made as it drifted gracefully through hyperspace. Gracefully as it can, he supposed. This was not a ship built for grace. Sometimes tools built for war become lived-in, as much a part of you as your own body. 

Djarin tilted his head, the ever-present gleaming helm he wore shifting slightly to the right. He heard Cara before he needed to see her.

“Mando?” The woman leaned against the frame to the cockpit, a pair of bottles clutched in one hand. “I thought you might want some company.”

The woman didn’t wait for Din’s permission before settling into the co-pilot seat. The Mandalorian didn’t have time to tell her that was the kid’s position. Too late now, he supposed. Kid was downstairs sleeping anyway. He wouldn’t mind.

Cara offered a bottle to Din, her gaze firmly on his armored countenance as he kept his focus forwards. The ship would basically fly itself, but there were always small tweaks to make to more efficiently travel, even in hyperspace. 

He didn’t like to be interrupted. Most people wouldn’t dare bother a Mandalorian deep in focus and expect to live. But, then again, “most people” were not an already-tipsy Carasynthia Dune.

Djarin tilted his head slightly in her direction. “Thanks, but I’m not thirsty.”

Cara laughed, tapping the bottle on his beskar shoulder pauldron. “I should have expected you Mandos weren’t the type to drink on the job.”

Din moved a gloved hand to the Razor Crest’s hyperdrive regulator, turning it slowly downward to conserve fuel. “I just prefer to do it alone.”

Cara kept her hand out, with the bottle. “Come on. Is it the helmet? That thing doesn’t have any way for you to drink without taking it all the way off?”

“Yes.” Din took the bottle and set it on a flat surface of the console to his left. “And I don’t take off the helmet.”

He turned to look at Cara, the ex-trooper now taking another swig of whatever it was in that bottle. Something they would have had on Nevarro. Trandoshan ale. The smell was distinctive. Din noticed that Cara was looser than usual. Relaxed, even. She still wore her black underarmor garb, but none of the plating.

Din couldn’t help but notice how well the fabric clung to her. Like a second skin, hugging against her body. She usually was more armored up, more businesslike. Not like this. The past few days of travel had left her more… casual. Too casual.

“What do you want, Cara?” It was barely a question. He forced his attention back toward the ship’s dashboard. Surely there was something here worth paying attention to. Something other than the busty woman who kept… inserting herself in his space. 

“I wanted to...” She searched for the words, stumbling over herself slightly. Not like her, thought Din. The alcohol must be getting to her. He didn’t expect her to be such a lightweight. Maybe she was playing it up. It had been a while since either of them had any company other than their own. Not much to do onboard a ship this size.

She continued, after a moment, “I was bored.” She looked him up and down, biting her lower lip slightly. She looked like she was pouting. Din didn’t care for it. It made her look… like she wanted something. Something that he wasn’t sure he wanted to give.

But she was a friend. Or at least a useful ally. Might as well entertain her, childish as she may be behaving.

“You shouldn’t let your guard down, you know.” His voice came out gravelly through the slight vocoder in his helmet. Breathy. Controlled.

Cara smirked, leaning forward in the co-pilot’s seat, the tip of her cleavage just barely visible above the ribbed black fabric of her shirt. Din tried not to think about how well her ass was filling out that seat. He failed at this.

The helmet had some other advantages. Like not showing the way blood could rush to his face. It had been a long, lonely few days.

Cara looked up at him, her brown eyes twinkling in the half light of hyperspace illumination. “What makes you think I’m letting my guard down, Mando?”

Din didn’t look at her, keeping his gaze forward. “You’re drunk, Cara. I’m dangerous. Bounty hunter, remember?”

She laughed again, small and low. Was she trying to get a rise out of him? Would it work? Din wasn’t amused. That wouldn’t be the word he would choose, at least.

She changed topics, leaning back in her chair again and taking another drink before continuing. “You know, Mando, back in the Republic days we used to do these really long deployments. They’d order us out to some backwater to take out some Imperial wannabe, and it’d just be me and three other boys in the dropship for days.”

Cara shifted her position slightly, placing the now-empty bottle between her legs on the chair. Din tried not to think about how the cool bottle would feel against her thighs. 

“At first, you know, we were all awkward about it. Everyone was real quiet, doing their own thing. Like you.” She pointed a lazy finger toward Din in the pilot’s seat. He tried not to give her attention. She was arrogant as ever.

“Then, of course, after an engagement or two... when you get to see how people are... in action...” She drug out each word. Savoring it. “You open up a bit on the long flights.”

She ran a hand up her side, up the full curve from her hips to her breasts, constrained tight in her top. Din once again thanked the Way for requiring constant face covering. She didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting to him. It was, however, impossible for him to ignore that she was.

Cara stood from her chair, leaving the bottle empty on the seat. She strode the few steps to Din, leaning over the back of his chair, her breath hot on his beskar helm, her arms draped lazily over his shoulders. She was pushing it. She spoke directly into his helm now, far too close. Too sloppy for an assassination. This wasn’t that. This was a proposition.

“What do you say about taking that armor off and... killing some time, Mando?” Her speech was syrupy, her lips parted just so, her hair falling just so over her eyes. Her breasts pushed against the back of his pilot’s seat, mere inches from his back. He knew what she was doing.

It was infuriating.

Din kept his voice controlled, level. Proper. “I told you: the armor doesn’t come off.”

She giggled in his ear. “Not even if I take mine off first?”

That was it.

Din spun the seat around, knocking Cara off her balance and sending her falling backwards onto the hard plastisteel of the cockpit floor. He rose to his full height in the cabin, imposing over the flushed Cara. He reached down, swiftly grabbing the woman by her neck and pulling her back standing, slamming her backwards against the instrument panels on the back walls of the cockpit. 

She smirked in his grip, clearly enjoying the fact that she won, that she got him to react. Of course. Din’s frustration was evident even through the mask. It didn’t have to be seen. It was seen enough.

He held her by her jaw, his gloved hand against her skin. She didn’t fight back. She didn’t need to. She waited for him to speak, the only sound in the cockpit for a moment her panting breath and his carefully measured exhales through the vocoder.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Cara.” Din leaned his helmet closer to her ear, her shuddering breaths coming hot against his armor.

“If you’re going to tease me on this ship...” He thrust a hand between her thighs, instantly cutting her cocky smirk into a sharp gasp.

“You’re going to deal with the consequences.” His voice was a vocoded _purr_ in her ears. Din’s right hand shifted again to her neck as his left began rubbing at the navy blue fabric over her cunt. Whatever Cara had in mind, it wasn’t this... direct. She didn’t think he had it in him.

Cara spoke tersely through his hand pressing on her throat. “And what... are those consequences?” Her eyes were locked on his, sweat dripping from her brow. She didn’t dare move her arms against him, not if that meant he might end up taking his hands off her, especially off her cunt, not when he was rubbing her like that… 

Din moved his forehead against hers, the cold beskar pressing against her skin. Cara held his gaze, his helmet close enough that she could just barely make out his face underneath. 

“I’ve got something to shut you up with.” 

Din loosened his grasp on Cara’s neck and pulled his hand away from her sex, leaving her eyes rolled back and a small whine escaping her lips. 

A quick order from the Mandalorian. “On your knees, Cara.” 

She dropped. Sliding her hands down his armored thighs as she sank to her knees, eye level with his belt buckle. With one hand, he moved to press the release latch on his belt, pulling it off in a fluid motion while caressing the side of her face with his other hand. 

Cara kept her gaze locked on his helmet as she turned slightly to lick at his thumb, small strokes at first before pulling it into her mouth completely, savoring the sweat and grime of his clothing. It was disgusting. She loved it.

“Good girl.” Din noted, with the same insulting intonation he would use for a tamed gharzr. There was one way that the Mandalorian was going to take her, and it would be on his terms.

Slowly, calmly, she ran her hands up the inside of his thighs toward his groin, feeling Din’s body under his armor and rough clothing, the outline of his hardening member underneath his brown pants. 

She pulled her lips away from his thumb to undo the zipper-clasps at his crotch, revealing his cock. He was now hard and ready, a mere few inches from her plush lips, and only slightly larger than Cara had expected. From above her, Din could see her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt, her heartbeat accelerated, this being the first patch of skin she’d seen of him since boarding the Razor Crest. 

“Dank farrik, Mando,” Cara gasped at the sight of his cock. “I didn’t know you were hiding this from me this whole ti--” 

Din didn’t give her time to finish what she was saying, choosing instead to thrust his cock past her lips and into her mouth, her eyes going wide as she kept a grasp on the base of his member.

“I told you I was going to shut you up.” 

Cara’s breasts heaved under her as Din shifted his hands to the side of her head, using her mouth like a portable fuckhole. If she was going to tease him, this is how he would treat her. Walking around the ship with no armor, all her curves out in the open like a cheap Hutt dancing girl, changing with her back turned to him in the lower decks… no. 

It wasn’t befitting of a Mandalorian to let himself be taken advantage of. She would have to be taught a lesson.

Cara coughed and gasped as his cock was pulled out of her mouth, large enough to give her doubts about her original scheme. Panting for breath, Din could see she was already tearing up, a thin line tracing her modest eyeliner down across the republic insignia tattooed underneath her left eye. She still had one hand on his cock, the other steadying herself against the wall behind her. 

“No hands.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command. 

This was his ship. He called the shots. 

Cara nervously lowered her hand from his cock. As if to commend her for obeying, he ran his hand down her chin, down to the mess of saliva and precum on her lower lip. She looked submissive. Good.

“That’s better.” The Mandalorian again pressed his cock up to her puckered lips, this time without her hand in the way. The slightest, almost inaudible groan emanated from him as he pushed his cock almost to his full length within Cara’s mouth, past her tongue and into her throat, until her nose rested on the hair around the base of his cock.

“Now that’s what I want to hear from you, Cara.” Din sighed as he held her head with one hand, resting against the wall with the other.

“Quiet-” he pumped his cock into her- “and obeying.” Din pushed her down onto the base of his manhood again before continuing to thrust into her warm throat.

The sound of flesh and suction filled the room as Cara choked down the length of his cock, Din beginning to rhythmically plunge himself into the former trooper’s throat. Her eyes fluttered with effort, her nostrils flared and makeup running down her face. Underneath her ass, pressed against the wall behind her, she slipped a hand under her belt to work her fingers on her cunt.

She didn’t expect him to be so forward. Mandalorians weren’t supposed to be like this. He was going to be something that she could play with, not… this. Forthright. Commanding. In control. 

Everything that she didn’t realize she was missing. 

The cock pumping down her throat wasn’t too bad either.

A light slap on the side of her face woke her from her reverie, as Din pulled his member from her mouth, still attached by a few strands of saliva to her lips. He wasn’t done yet. Cara coughed lightly, the removal of him leaving her feeling empty and used. Left her… wanting.

“Are you going to cum, Cara?” Din’s mocking tone was almost enough to make her finish right there underneath him, one hand still rubbing at her clit under her uniform. All she could muster was a whine. Pitiful. She looked needy, whoreish in a way that Din never expected to see. He liked it.

She quickly undid her own pants, just enough that she could switch her hand from rubbing at her clit to plunging two fingers in, leaning back against the wall on the balls of her feet, knees spread and breasts heaving under her shirt. Din looked down at her, his cock still rock hard at the former soldier underneath him.

Cara didn’t answer, just opened her mouth wide and let her tongue hang out, inviting him to fuck her throat again as she fingered herself in front of him. Putting on a show. His own personal Razor Crest fucktoy.

Well, if she’s asking for it, might as well oblige.

Din grabbed the back of her head with his hand, pulling her forward onto her hands and knees, breaking her rhythm at her cunt. He grabbed her by the base of her hair, pulling her painfully at a crawl until he was sitting in the pilot’s chair again. Cara’s sizeable ass was framed perfectly in her trousers behind her as he forced her head down on his cock again, paying no attention to her wants, her desires, but using her head as the fucktoy that she so clearly wanted him to.

It felt good. 

Cara moaned onto his cock as he fucked her mouth, her hand back to rubbing at her cunt as he pumped her lips up and down his cock, her ass moving softly from side to side as she furiously tried to cum while he used her mouth.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Din murmured, just loud enough that she could hear, and it was clear that as he did so a shudder ran through Cara, the intonations of a moan rumbling through her throat and onto his cock. She might have came. Din wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t important here. 

“You wanted me to snap, right?” Din continued, still pumping the former trooper’s head on his shaft, saliva and precum pooling at the base of his crotch as she gagged lewdly on him. By Mandalore, she was good at this, her hair pulled back by his gloved hand as she sank all the way to the base of his cock without hesitation. It was clear why she enjoyed those long journeys with the other troopers. Anyone with her endurance would.

“You wanted to see how long it would take…” Din forced her down, pushing her all the way to the base and not letting her back up, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she whimpered underneath him, another shudder passing through her body, her tits pressed against his legs.

“For me to break.” Another shudder. How many had it been? Din had lost count. She was clearly enjoying this. Fine. Her throat convulsed on his cock, a pleasurable ripple every time. 

He pulled her head off of his crotch and stood again, enjoying the feeling of having the tables turned on her. 

A Mandalorian is not prey. They are the predator.

“Pull that shirt down.” Cara scrambled to obey, her hand still slick from who-knows-how-many orgasms and shaking from the rush of it all. She pulled her black undershirt down, for the first time revealing her large, veiny breasts, her nipples erect and a dull brown against the pale of her skin. 

She pushed them together in front of the Mandalorian, kneeling underneath him, ready to receive him in whatever way he so desired. Din stood above her, his cock still hard, even leveled with her face.

“Hands. Now.” Cara shakily raised her hands to his cock. He was so thick, she thought. Gorgeous. Imposing. 

“Finish what you started.” Cara nodded, wordlessly, and began to slowly jerk it, rubbing both of her hands up and down its length. Her breasts trapped tight between her elbows as she rocked back and forth, panting softly with exertion as she tried to pull Din’s orgasm out of him. It felt crude, like he didn’t even deign to give his own energy into it.

She was just a tool to him. The thought made her nearly cum again right there. She clenched his cock tighter, wanting so badly to feel him finish on her, to cover her, to make her into the fucktoy she didn’t even know that she wanted to be until tonight.

He gave a rough grunt and a spurt of cum landed on her face, crossing linear over her eye, dripping down into her opened mouth. Then another, over her tits, and another, and another… soon she felt covered in Din’s heat, in his smell, in the entire finishing of him, her hands sticky and her mouth full of his spunk.

Din grabbed her head for one last time, wiping his cock off on her hair as easily as he would a rag before tucking it back into his pants. He kneeled down to meet eye level with Cara, his armor pristine and untouched, while she was a cum-soaked mess on the ground, one of her eyes pasted shut from his load and her tits covered in splatters of it. 

“This is my ship, Cara.” His voice was the same measured tone as always, as if he barely exerted himself throughout the whole ordeal. She looked at his armor, seeing the slightest reflection of her used form in the shiny beskar.

Din held his gaze steady. “Don’t expect to push me and get away with it.” 

The Mandalorian stood, and walked out of the back of the cockpit, barely sparing a glance for the Republic cumrag on the floor. 

She laid there, panting, in the throes of post-finishing, the occasional shudder passing through her as the cool air passed over his cum on her chest. She looked toward him, only to see the back of his cape.

He paused, just before leaving the room. 

“Clean this place up. I’m going to the showers.”

For a moment, it was still, just the soft hum of readouts and Cara’s breath. She wanted him to say something, to say anything.

He turned to look toward her, over his shoulder. “Next time, don’t play coy.”

**Author's Note:**

> TO REITERATE fuck Gina Carano for being a transphobic asswipe. thankx for reading


End file.
